


Leave a Mark

by Faith in the Fallen (Iturbide)



Series: Second Chances [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Blow Jobs, Comfort Sex, Foreplay, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-09 13:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19476574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iturbide/pseuds/Faith%20in%20the%20Fallen
Summary: Things are different in Askr, and for the most part, Chrom thinks that's for the best: Robin was always private with his feelings back in Ylisse, and while there are things he misses about their time there, he would not trade the tactician's open affections for anything in the world.  So when Robin treats him to an unexpected indulgence, it stirs old, fond memories for the prince...





	Leave a Mark

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends i am back with the boys
> 
> It's been kind of a rough year to date and I'm still trying to get back on my feet and get work my way back into the writing groove. This was just supposed to test the waters and then ended up being 6k words whoops.
> 
> ~~I actually have a list of these that I want to write, so with this finished I still have two more fics in the wings for when I feel up to indulging my less safe for work tendencies~~
> 
> As in the last entry, slashes (/) represent flashbacks. While this piece is still arguably tamer than the first entry in the series, it is still heavy on the NSFW content, so please be warned -- otherwise, I hope you enjoy!

Despite the fact that they had been reunited months ago, Chrom still felt a surge of warmth every time he laid eyes on Robin. It didn’t matter when or where: waking in the morning beside him, sharing a midday meal together, falling asleep with the tactician in his arms...he could still remember, too clearly, that year of agonizing loneliness following Robin’s sacrifice, and every reminder, however small, that they were together again brought such comfort with it. Things weren’t back to the way they’d been in Ylisse -- but that was better, by his estimation, because for the first time, Robin was being open with his own feelings, rather than hiding it all behind closed doors. 

That had always been the way before. Robin showed no trace of affection where anyone else could see, preferring formality and propriety in view of even the Shepherds (though he supposed that might have had something to do with Frederick’s overprotectiveness) and only ever offering his smile, his touch, when they were completely alone. It had driven Chrom a little mad, sometimes, when he ached for solace and the tactician would only touch his shoulder, or at most give his fingers a reassuring squeeze. So to be here now, and have Robin embrace him after a victory, offer that unguarded smile across the table during supper, share a kiss (however light and chaste) as they stood together in the plaza...sometimes it still took is breath away. There might be things he missed about their time in Ylisse -- but he would not trade this for the world. 

Especially not when he could reach out to take the tactician’s hand in a quiet moment, and feel Robin lace their fingers in return. 

The prince scanned the hallway: usually there was a fair bit of activity in this wing, but today things were quiet. If he recalled correctly, there was some kind of festival going on, or being planned, and many of the reserve Heroes had been called to help with the preparations. Lucky for him, he and Robin were part of the active roster, and exempt from such duties...which likely meant they had most of the castle to themselves for the day. Grinning sidelong at the tactician, Chrom tilted his head toward a small side corridor, drawing the both of them out of the main hall...and wrapping his arms around Robin’s waist, pulling the man tight against him and leaning back against the wall. 

The tactician laughed softly, his hands clasping lightly behind the prince’s neck. “This seems a bit bold, don’t you think?”

“Not really, if no one else is around to see,” Chrom grinned, leaning in to steal a kiss and feeling Robin’s laughter hum against his lips. Gods, this never would have happened in their life before, and he _relished_ the warmth of the body tucked against him, the breath that grazed his cheek, the kisses trailing along his jaw…

“Well,” the tactician mused, brushing the words across the prince’s skin, “if no one’s around to see…” He felt Robin’s lips purse against his throat -- followed by a sharp, familiar suction that made his breath catch and his blood stir. The tactician’s arms coiled around his shoulders as Chrom's grip tightened, his tongue stroking the tingling spot on the prince’s neck (and his hips twitched at that intimate gesture, the jolt of pleasure that lanced through him drawing a low sound from his chest). 

“Did you leave a mark?” he asked hoarsely. 

Robin met his eye, suddenly shy. “...do you mind?”

The prince laughed, leaning his forehead against the tactician’s. “Why would I mind? As I recall, I’m the one who asked you to in the first place.”

/////

Chrom pressed a kiss to Robin’s temple, feeling the tactician’s unsteady breaths huff against his throat. “Thanks for that,” he sighed, picking himself up off the bed and cleaning his hands before pulling his trousers back up. The morning’s council meeting had been...trying, to say the least, and his pent-up frustration had been nearing a fever pitch; he was sure he’d have said something he’d regret if Robin hadn’t pulled him aside during the break -- and while he couldn’t be sure if the tactician had intended for things to end up in the bedroom, the quick release was exactly what he’d needed to settle down. 

If he’d had the time, he would have preferred to take longer with it. Draw it out, make it last and really savor the moment. Later, maybe -- tonight, if he was lucky, though Robin never recovered quite so fast...

“Why do you keep doing this?”

Chrom paused in straightening his shirt, glancing back at the man still sprawled on the bed. He hadn’t moved much, aside from throwing an arm over his eyes, leaving his shirt shoved up and his pants unlaced to expose his cock (already gone mostly soft, but Chrom still felt a thrill go through him as he scanned the tactician’s skin, something he saw so rarely but craved too often). “This is a surprise,” he joked. “You’re not usually this talkative after you come.” He resumed adjusting his clothes...and stopped again, turning back to the tactician. “You _did_ come, didn’t you?” The prince had thought he had, but if Robin had enough sense to string words together--

“That’s not an answer.” Robin moved his arm slightly, peering out from under his sleeve. “Why do you keep doing this?”

Chrom smiled, sitting down beside him on the mattress and brushing his knuckles across the tactician’s jaw. “Because I love you.”

“You really need to stop saying things like that.”

“You want me to lie?”

“I didn’t say that,” Robin sighed, covering his eyes again. 

The prince leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tactician’s chest, grinning as the man squirmed beneath the attention. “What should I say instead, then?”

“Anything. Unless it’s about me.”

“...so I’m not supposed to talk about you.” Robin nodded, starting to scoot away as Chrom’s lips lingered on his breast...until the prince sprawled out across him to arrest his progress. “Why not?”

“Because people will get the wrong impression.”

“What impression is that?” he teased, nuzzling the tactician’s throat. 

“That you’re serious.”

Chrom levered himself up, gently taking hold of Robin’s wrist and lifting his arm away from his face. “I _am_ serious. I love you, Robin.”

The tactician met his eye, briefly, but looked away just as fast. “The council won’t approve.”

“So? It’s not like they can decide who I fall in love with,” the prince grinned, drawing Robin’s hand close to kiss his knuckles. “They’ve been bothering me lately to get married, and...I intend to put you forward as my choice.”

That got the tactician’s attention. He smiled as Robin turned a disbelieving stare on him, resting his cheek against the hand he still held captive…

“They won’t allow it.”

“Pretty sure they can’t stop me,” Chrom laughed. “I’m the prince of Ylisse, last I checked. What I say goes.”

“Within limits, as I recall.”

“I don’t really see what problem they could have with you, after everything you’ve done for Ylisse on the whole -- not to mention what you’ve done for me personally.” He pressed a kiss into Robin’s palm, and felt gentle fingertips stroke his cheek in turn. “Would it make you happy if we could be together? Not just behind closed doors like this, but out there, too?” Not that there had ever been anything stopping them, beyond the tactician’s shyness and insistence on propriety...but he decided not to say that. 

And at last, a smile graced Robin’s face. “Of course it would--”

“Good.” Leaning close, Chrom pressed a kiss to the tactician’s mouth, feeling the soft hum against his lips as Robin leaned into it. “It’s decided, then: I’ll put it before the council straight away.”

“I -- wait, _what?”_ The prince rolled off the bed again, laughing to himself as he listened to the tactician struggling to get his clothes in order. He was already out of the bedroom and halfway across the parlour by the time Robin stumbled up beside him, still looking slightly more rumpled than usual (and still fussing with his belt, a task made that much harder since he was looking at Chrom instead of his work). “You’re not serious!”

“Of course I am.” Before the tactician could protest again, the prince darted in for another kiss. “You can stay here, if you want. Hopefully I shouldn’t be too long, we were just on a break and we adjourn at midday, but I don’t want to hunt you down to give you the news.”

“Chrom, wait--”

He didn’t. With a final wink, he ducked out the door and headed down the hall with a spring in his step and a cheery tune on his lips; winding through the familiar corridors, he finally arrived at the council chambers and strode inside without bothering to knock, ignoring the old nobles who jumped apart at his entrance and taking his place at the head of the table. “So. Back to business. What else is on the docket for today?" 

One of the men cleared his throat. “Well, there is still the matter of your courtship…”

The prince grinned. “That’s been decided.”

The nobles all sat up straighter, staring raptly at him as he leaned back in his seat. “This is wonderful news, Milord! Pray, who is she?”

“He,” Chrom corrected pleasantly. “I intend to marry Robin.”

Silence met his words. The nobles looked amongst themselves, a few unsteady smiles appearing as they turned their attention back to Chrom. “Surely you jest.”

“I’m completely serious.” 

Their amusement faltered and faded, replaced not by cheer, but by nervous frowns. “Milord...you can’t.”

“Why not? Robin has been my right hand for more than a year now. He kept me safe through the campaign in Plegia, and all of the halidom’s soldiers, as well; he’s thoughtful and diligent, he’s constantly working for the benefit of Ylisse, he’s--” 

“A man,” one of the nobles pointed out.

“A _Plegian,_ no less,” another remarked. 

“And let’s not forget that convenient _amnesia_ he so loves to cite,” a third scoffed. 

Chrom bristled at the accusation. “He’s not _faking,_ he’s self-conscious enough about his memory trouble--”

“Whatever the case, Milord, there are clear rules in place,” the first councilor wheezed. “With your blessed elder sister gone, herself unwedded and childless; and your younger ineligible for the throne; the duty of producing an heir and preserving the Exalted lineage falls to you. Neither you nor Robin can bear children, as best I am aware, which makes him ineligible to be your spouse.”

“...I don’t understand,” the prince protested, feeling a cold, heavy dread take hold of his heart. “I thought...the choice was mine.”

“Within reason,” one of the nobles replied sensibly (and Robin had said the same thing, hadn’t he, _within reason,_ as though somehow this one small, simple request might not be, and how had the tactician been right?). “Now, there are a great many fine ladies who would make excellent spouses, we would be happy to draw together a list for you…”

“Or arrange introductions,” another piped up.

Chrom shook his head, slowly at first, but increasing in fervor with every beat of his pounding heart. “No. I don’t -- I don’t _want_ someone I’ve never spoken with, that I don’t know, that...that only wants status, and not partnership. I want _Robin._ ”

“Such petulance is unbecoming, Milord,” someone huffed. “You have a _duty_ to your people and your nation to see Naga’s bloodline endure into the future, given that you bear the proof of Her divine blessing. Put the Grimleal out of your mind and--”

Chrom was on his feet before he heard another word, fury burning through his veins. “ _He has a name!”_

The silence that followed was broken by the tolling of church bells in the square. “We can reconvene on this matter tomorrow,” a thin voice offered. “I would suggest that we all draw up a list of names for Milord Chrom to consider, what say you?”

He did not want them. He did not want them, but these men would not listen. They would not hear. And all he wanted was to get out, get away, before the weight of desolation crushed him into the floor. 

Without bothering to excuse himself, the prince strode from the room, the councilors’ ayes of agreement pursuing him as he made his escape. He moved blindly, winding through one passage after another, desperate to lose himself and shake the despair dogging his steps…

He knew better than that, though. It would not be so easily lost. 

Stopping dead in his tracks, he felt his throat tighten as a familiar, terrible grief began to squeeze his chest -- and when he looked up, he found his own room directly in front of him. He moved inside, throwing the door closed behind him and slamming his fist against the wood--

“Chrom?”

Everything in him froze. Glancing over his shoulder, he could only watch mutely as Robin stepped toward him; gods, he’d asked the tactician to wait expecting good news, and instead he’d returned with _this --_ what could he possibly say, how could he possibly tell him? He wanted nothing more than to hold on to the tactician and not let go, but with his promise good as shattered, how could he…? 

Robin moved to his side, gently taking hold of the prince’s free hand. “That bad?” he offered lightly. Chrom choked, unable to find any words at all -- but the tactician lifted a hand to stroke the prince’s cheek, lacing their fingers together. “It’s alright. It’s alright, Chrom, come on…” As Robin drew him into a gentle kiss, the prince felt a sob rip through him; flinging his arms around the tactician, he buried his face in the soft folds of that worn coat, breathing in the familiar scent of the man he loved but could not have, and let everything else fall away. 

He paid little attention as Robin guided them from parlour to bedroom, or as the tactician coaxed him onto the bed. He only curled on his side, holding Robin tight while his mind turned the nobles’ cold words over and over again, worrying at them as a hound with its quarry. A soft hum broke through his spiraling thoughts after he knew not how long, gradually pushing the council from his mind; distantly, he thought he heard the church bells again, but spared them no more than a moment’s consideration, focusing instead on the man in his arms, the deft fingers piecing through his hair, the gentle melody surrounding them…

“I love you, Robin,” he whimpered.

“And I love you, Chrom,” the tactician murmured, his lips brushing across the prince’s brow. “Even if they bar the way to marriage, we can still see each other this way, nothing will change…”

His heart twisted, his body curling more tightly against Robin's chest. “That’s the _problem! Nothing_ changes -- they keep _pushing_ for me to marry some woman I care _nothing_ for, who cares _nothing_ for me, you keep _hiding_ everything, and I can’t e...you pull away every time I even try to touch your hand, like there’s nothing there at all, li-ike…”

He heard the tactician sigh, felt the warm breath stir his hair. “I’m sorry, Chrom...I was trying to make things easier for you -- I suppose I failed rather spectacularly in that regard.”

The prince sniffed, lifting his head just enough to see Robin’s face. “How?”

“I had a feeling that you would be...encouraged...to wed a noblewoman, once the war came to close,” he murmured, resting his brow against Chrom’s. “And...when we talked about them -- even the ones in the Shepherds -- and you said you couldn’t imagine spending your life with any of them, I thought that...perhaps if the council saw no evidence of anything between the two of us, they might not press the matter as forcefully. I imagined they would still broach the subject, but…”

Pushing himself up slightly, he cupped the tactician’s cheek in one unsteady hand. “Do you remember what I told you, when we talked about them?” They’d spent so many evenings in those early months with Chrom sprawled across one of the couches in the parlour, Robin pacing idly before the fire, discussing everyone from Sully to Olivia…

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though his eyes still seemed so sad. “That I was the only one you could picture at your right.”

“I meant it.” Chrom fell back into the rumpled blankets, pulling Robin against his chest and touching a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “I still do. There’s no one else I want beside me, no one...I love you. With everything I am -- you make me feel _whole,_ and nothing _anyone_ says will change that. Even if they try to bar the way, it won’t change that I’m yours, but I get...I’m tired of hiding it.”

“...the more visibly you pursue this, the more pressure they’ll put on you,” the tactician cautioned. 

“I don’t care. I just need some...I don’t know, some _proof_ of who holds my heart…”

It dawned on him, slowly, and with it a smile broke across his face. “Like a mark.”

Robin had barely enough time to look puzzled before the prince rolled onto his back, dragging the tactician with him to sprawl across his chest. “Make a mark.”

“A mark?” 

“You know,” he laughed. “Sully calls them love bites.”

Robin’s face instantly went cherry red. “Gods, Chrom, I can’t--”

“Please?” the prince pleaded, clasping his hands at the small of the tactician’s back. “Just a little one? I know...” Reaching up, he cupped Robin’s cheek in his palm, the heat of that fiery blush warming his skin. “You try to keep everything private. Especially important things. And I know it’s because you want to keep them safe, but...hiding those can put them at risk, sometimes. If nobody knows what they mean to you, they won’t think twice about trying to take them. And...I want people to know what I mean to you.”

The tactician sighed, a fond, shy smile drifting across his face before he pressed a kiss into Chrom’s hand. “How can I refuse, when you put it like that?” 

Grinning, the prince settled back against the pillows, tilting his head to expose his throat. Robin snuggled in close, nuzzling the prince’s neck...and pressing a shy kiss there, the tips of his teeth barely grazing his skin. “You’re going to need to use a little more force than that,” Chrom laughed. The tactician fidgeted, his breath coming out in a slow, shaky sigh...before a sharp, sweet pressure took its place. “That’s it,” the prince huffed, sifting his fingers into Robin’s hair, “j-just like that…”

The tactician drew back slightly after a long, blissful moment, his tongue lapping against the tingling spot (and Chrom squirmed despite himself, pulling Robin just a bit closer). “Like that?”

“It’ll take a while to show up,” he chuckled, nuzzling the tactician’s hair. “It felt right, though.”

Another shy smile flashed across Robin’s face before he nestled in close again, trailing kisses down the prince’s throat...while deft fingers plucked at the clasps securing his shirt in place. “Would you mind if I practiced a bit more?” the tactician whispered.

Chrom didn’t hesitate. Undoing the buttons with barely enough care to avoid tearing them loose, he waited impatiently while Robin sat up and brushed the fabric aside, his fingers drifting down the prince’s chest and leaving an electric thrill in their wake. He lingered for a moment over an old scar, casting a worried glance at Chrom. “You bear so many marks already -- I don’t want to cause you any more pain…”

“It’s not like it’s permanent. It’ll go away after a few days, like a bruise. And it doesn’t hurt,” the prince assured him. “It feels pretty nice, actually.” The tactician gave him a disbelieving look, which he met with a smile. “Want me to give you one to show you?”

A bloom of color tinged Robin’s cheeks. “...perhaps later.” Which was not the answer Chrom had expected, and a grin spread across his face as the tactician curled over him, his hands running the length of the prince’s torso as he pressed a kiss beneath his collarbones, his tongue darting briefly against it before the pressure bloomed anew. Even when it faded, Robin did no more than press another gentle kiss to the red spot before shifting his attention to another place, just above Chrom’s heart -- and his breath snared as the pressure mounted again, a low sound rumbling through him. Tipping his head back, he savored the sensations while the tactician’s attention wound its way down his chest: the warm breaths caressing his skin, the soft kisses giving way to firm suction, the light brush of fingertips across the tingling marks…

Robin shifted to straddle the prince’s hips, and a heavy moan lodged in his throat as the tactician rubbed the front of his trousers, his palm following the hard outline of Chrom’s cock through the fabric. “This I’m rather more familiar with,” he mused, offering a wink and a teasing smile to the prince while he plucked the laces free and drew his smallclothes down. “May I?”

“Do you really need to ask?” Chrom shot back (and he knew he sounded desperate, but he didn’t care if it meant that Robin would touch him).

“Of course I do,” the tactician smiled, the tips of his fingers trailing up the prince’s length. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t know what you want. And I think I’ve done rather too much of that lately, leaving your needs unattended. So tell me, Chrom…” The prince felt his mouth go dry as Robin looked to him, his gentle smile belying the intensity of his gaze. “What do you want?”

He swallowed hard, but his voice was still barely more than a rasp when he finally found words. “Touch me. Please.”

The tactician’s expression softened, very slightly. “Gladly.” Biting his lip, Chrom breathed a slow, unsteady sigh as warm fingers curled at the base of his cock...but when Robin shifted, sprawling cat-like across the prince’s thighs and kissing his length, he found it difficult to breathe in again, his attention instead raptly focused on the tactician as he licked his lips, stroked and circled the tip of Chrom’s cock with his tongue...and wrapped his mouth around it, sliding down while his hand worked its way up.

He started slow. He always did, taking his time, lavishing attention on every inch of skin. The prince reached out, gently touching Robin’s pale hair...and when the tactician turned his gaze up, lifting his head to smile at Chrom, he returned it in kind, sifting his fingers into those feathery locks. 

Robin’s eyes crinkled very slightly at the corners, sending a thrill rippling through the prince well in advance of the next movement; he gasped as the tactician slid down his length again, his fingers tensing and hips twitching up into it -- and Robin met him without hesitation, casting an amused glance toward the prince’s face as he moved. The heat of his mouth, the caress of his tongue...every touch, every stroke, made Chrom’s blood throb, pleasure coursing through him and tingling along his skin like a spiderweb of lightning spreading across the sky. 

“R-Robin…”

He felt the soft hum of acknowledgement vibrate along his length, saw the tactician’s eyes flutter as he turned his gaze toward the prince -- and very nearly came, his cock twitching as he tightened his hand in the tactician’s hair. Long, deft fingers continued to stroke him as Robin lifted his head, licking his lips (and gods, the thrill that went through him at that gesture was nearly enough to tip him over the edge). “Are you alright?”

He beamed, nodding as he smoothed the tactician’s pale locks. “Love you.”

Robin shook his head fondly, his warm smile reaching all the way to his honey-colored eyes. “And I love you,” he murmured, pursing his lips at the tip of Chrom’s cock again and easing his way down, his tongue pressing tight against hot skin as he pulled up--

That, at last, brought the coiled tension in him snapping free. Where the morning’s release had been quick, sharp, just enough to dull the edge of his frustrations, everything in him unravelled in this moment, his back arching into the force of it and a heady groan tearing free of his breast...but Robin continued to meet his every spasm, even as they slowed, riding out the pleasure to the very end. 

Only then did he withdraw, licking his lips while he fished a handkerchief from his pocket. “How was that?”

“Do you really need to ask?” the prince laughed, feeling breathless and lightheaded with his heart still pounding. “...it was wonderful,” he offered after another moment, smiling dazedly at the tactician gently cleaning him up and setting his clothes back more or less in order. “I’d like to return the favor, if I could.”

Robin smiled, rising just enough to stroke Chrom’s cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “You know you don’t have to.”

“But I _like_ to. And there’s still that love bite I promised.”

Sighing fondly, the tactician shifted to straddle Chrom’s chest, combing his fingers idly through the prince’s dark blue hair. “...nowhere too obvious,” he mumbled. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.”

“That’s alright,” the prince grinned, wrapping his arms around Robin’s shoulders to lever himself up. “How about...right here?” Tugging at the neckline of the tactician’s shirt, he pressed a kiss just below Robin’s collarbone (and a tremor met that touch, which only made him smile all the more).

“...that seems reasonable,” Robin agreed. Chrom beamed, gently mouthing it a few times (just to feel the tactician shiver) -- before pressing his lips to the spot and sucking hard. The tactician gasped and squirmed, but the prince held firm, tightening his fingers in the worn fabric of Robin’s hood while his free hand trailed down to work the tactician’s belt loose. 

As he eased off the pressure, his tongue lapping at the bright red mark, he felt Robin’s unsteady breath flutter through his hair. “You find that pleasant?”

Chrom looked up at him in alarm. “Did it hurt?”

“N-no, but...it...I don’t know what I was expecting, I suppose.”

“...did you not like it?” the prince ventured. 

The tactician’s face went slightly pink. “...it wasn’t intolerable,” he mumbled. “I could...see to indulging again. Sometimes.”

Chrom liked the sound of that. Smiling to himself, he peppered softer kisses across Robin’s jaw and throat, pulling his belt free and sliding one hand under his shirt. That, at least, earned him a thread of laughter -- one that wavered and faded as his fingers crept up, stroking the scars he’d long ago memorized. “How’s this?” he asked, the words slightly muffled against the tactician’s neck as he squeezed a firm nipple between his fingers. Robin’s breath snared in his throat, a faint whine humming beneath the prince’s lips...while something else stirred against his stomach. “Good?” he coaxed. 

“...y-yes,” the tactician managed. The prince grinned, his hand trailing down Robin’s chest as he lay back onto the mattress, unlacing the tactician’s trousers and teasing his smallclothes down to expose his cock. Still not quite hard -- but he was more than used to that (and, truth be told, he did love the foreplay, since it gave him every excuse to lavish Robin with affection). 

“Come a little closer,” he murmured, pitching his voice low and letting the words rumble through his chest. The tactician’s length twitched slightly as he shivered...but he complied, however shyly, shifting close enough for Chrom’s arms to coil around him -- and to kiss the tip of his cock when the prince levered himself up. “Perfect.”

He started small, warm breaths and slow caresses, smiling to himself when long fingers sifted through his hair. He swore he heard a contented hum rise on the air -- only for it to shiver into silence as his tongue stroked Robin’s cock from base to head. Taking the tip in his mouth, Chrom felt the tactician’s hand tense and tremble...and as he eased down, Robin’s fingers tightened in his hair, his breath fraying into a gasp. 

The tactician arched and curled over him as he moved, burying his face in the pillow behind the prince’s head to muffle the thready whine rising in his throat. Chrom only pulled him closer, guiding his hips into the motions, feeling the tell-tale heat throb against his lips with every suck, every stroke. Robin wouldn’t last long at this rate...so he slowed his pace, relishing the soft moan that echoed over his head. 

“Chro-om…”

Glancing up, he took in the tactician’s flushed face, watched him swallow hard between panted breaths...and finally caught his delirious gaze. “Please,” he gasped (and the prince didn’t think he’d ever heard Robin sound so desperate before, but the _need_ in that plea was _tangible_ and made his heart race). No more teasing; when he rolled his hips, Chrom met him with fervor, taking all he could of the tactician’s length -- and feeling the tension snap free, an unsteady moan filling the room and a familiar savor coating his tongue as Robin’s back arched beneath his hands. 

It was over in a flash, and with it all the strength went out of the tactician, who sagged back as the prince eased free (and idly licked the lingering traces from his lips). “You didn’t come earlier, did you?” he chuckled. Robin shook his head heavily, submitting without protest when Chrom drew him down into the sheets again and pillowing his head against the prince’s shoulder as he nestled in. Lifting one hand, he smoothed the tactician’s hair, pressing a gentle kiss to his brow as he glanced toward the dark windows on the far side of the room. “Frederick’s going to kill me for missing my afternoon appointments, isn’t he.”

“Mmmn...doubtful,” Robin mumbled. “Can’t kill the heir.”

“...bore me to death with another lecture, then.”

“...realistic.”

Chrom laughed, feeling a soft hum of mirth vibrate through the body tucked against his side. “Do you think you can help me smooth things over with him?”

A dreamy sigh pooled in the curve of his neck and shoulder. “I can probably think of something.”

Grinning, he touched another kiss to Robin’s lips, feeling a smile curve beneath his mouth before he finally pulled away, helping the tactician clean himself up and straighten his clothes (and shoving a cup of water at him, more out of habit than anything else). As the prince set about putting his own garments in order...he paused, his fingers tracing the line of reddish marks trailing up from his stomach; moving toward the silver glass standing by the wardrobe, he tilted his head -- and beamed at the perfect little love bite on his throat, well above what even his high collar could conceal.

He finally closed his shirt (if only grudgingly, and far more slowly than he needed to, admiring Robin’s handiwork as long as he possibly could), crossing the room to help the tactician up and leading the both of them out of the bedchamber and into the parlour. Robin managed to gather his senses by the time they reached the door, moving a polite half-step away (much to Chrom’s disappointment; he’d enjoyed the warm weight leaning against his shoulder) before they struck off toward the dining hall. 

As if on cue, Frederick descended upon them before they’d made it more than two steps inside, clearly torn between worry and frustration. “Milord! Where in Naga’s name have you been, we’ve been searching the castle top to bottom!”

“I guess nobody thought to check my room?”

“You were scheduled for half a dozen audiences this afternoon, you shouldn’t have been in your apartments -- when you were absent from the first we thought something might have happened, that you’d been taken or injured or worse--”

“Prince Chrom wasn’t feeling well after his morning council meeting,” Robin interrupted, cutting smoothly into the conversation (and ignoring the great knight’s obvious consternation). “He spent the afternoon abed.”

“Yeah, I bet he did,” Sully snickered, slinging an arm across the prince’s shoulders while Frederick frantically checked his temperature. “Have a little fun?” she asked. Chrom grinned, tilting his head to better show off the mark on his neck--

“Milord!” the great knight squawked. “Where on earth did _that_ come from!?”

“Yeah, Chrom, how _did_ you get that?” Sully teased, casting a pointed glance toward Robin (who had gone entirely silent and very, very red, though Frederick hadn’t noticed). “Have a little fun while you were laid up this afternoon?”

“We _must_ see to that at once, before it gets any worse -- I’ll fetch your sister, she should be able to tend it--“

“No need for that,” the prince insisted, touching the mark with the tips of his fingers. “I want to keep it. I like it.”

While Frederick made his usual protests, Chrom winked sidelong at the tactician, who went just a bit redder as he rubbed the back of his neck...and the prince felt a new thrill as Robin’s shirt shifted to reveal the bright red mark beneath his collarbone. 

“Ooh, looks like Chrom’s not the only one who had a little fun today, huh?” Sully grinned -- and he couldn’t help but laugh, warm and fond, as the tactician dragged his hood down over his face in a desperate attempt to hide his blush. 

/////

“How long has it been?” Robin asked, the tips of his fingers caressing the mark.

“Too long,” Chrom replied without hesitation. “I’ve missed it.”

“You could have said something, you know.”

“What, and risk not getting hugged in public anymore? No, thank you, I’ll take a kiss where people can watch over the evidence of it any day.”

“I never said I would stop doing that,” the tactician laughed. “I remembered how much you liked this. But you never brought it up here, so I didn’t want to overstep…”

“I don’t think it’s possible for you to overstep,” the prince teased, nuzzling Robin’s jaw. “You try and it’s barely even stepping.”

He hummed softly, a gentle sound that vibrated through Chrom’s lips as he mouthed the tactician’s throat. “Is that so? Should I try harder, then?”

“What would that even look like--“

His voice guttered out as Robin palmed the front of his trousers. “Still not overstepping,” the prince huffed, “but I could get used to it--”

_“Good gods, you two, get a room, there are children in this castle!”_

The tactician flung himself back so fast that Chrom was surprised the wall didn’t buckle where he pressed against it. With half-formed apologies and weak explanations already tumbling through his head, the prince turned…

...and found Grima grinning at the both of them. “Not at present, mind you, but the fact remains. Do be more careful,” the fell dragon purred, offering a flippant wave and vanishing from sight, leaving little more than a few violet embers behind. 

The prince glanced at Robin, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as the red-faced tactician met his gaze. “I wouldn’t mind finding a room,” he ventured. 

Robin choked on a laugh, burying it in his sleeves while Chrom moved to join him, brushing aside his feathery hair and touching a kiss to the side of his neck. “I think that can be arranged,” he replied. Peering around the corner into the main hall, the tactician crept back out into the open, gesturing for the prince to follow...and as he reached Robin’s side, he felt warm fingers lace with his own before they set off. 


End file.
